


Upping the Ante

by Nejinee



Series: The Bottom Line [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Office, Bossy Sherlock, Humor, M/M, Romance, business stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson works in downtown, corporate London. It's cut-throat, tough business and exciting in every way. If the lifestyle wasn't crazy enough, he could always rely on his boss, Sherlock bloody Holmes, to make life that much harder.</p><p>Corporate Johnlock! Office romancing is serious business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This genre is my thing, I've decided. I love Office!Lock for some reason. Corporate sassy John in a suit? Hello.

  
John Watson sat back in his chair, arms stretching above his head. Thursdays always felt like the long walk to freedom. The weekend was so close, yet so very, very far. He looked over his to-do list in his email and ticked off his finished projects. Almost all his proposals were sent out, minus the last one that was waiting for the info from Research. Those smart buggers always took their time. It wasn't like he could just send out the stats they gave him as-is. No, he needed to prep them and get them rolled out into pie charts and bar graphs so the client could understand the research data; Tedious but necessary. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered making it easy for his clients when the rest of the account executives just send word docs with lines and lines of statistics out like a lunch request.

He leaned forward and tapped his chin. Four-twenty. God, he just had to get through to five, maybe six, then he would be off.

His computer pinged. "Oh God," he grumbled, clicking on the bouncy email icon. "What now."

He heard a few voices crow nearby. So, something good, then. He squinted. Message from the president.

Dimmock knocked the partition separating their cubicles. "Oi, Watson. Nice job rolling in that last forty."

"Hold on," John mumbled, scanning the email. Ah. They'd made budget. Finally. The ever-articulated email from Mycroft Holmes was congratulating the team on meeting their sales budget for the quarter. Only two million to go to make the year. Joy.

Dimmock's head appeared around the scant edge of the cubicle wall. John was so grateful he had a window seat. He even remembered the day they decided he deserved one. It limited how many people could sneak up on him and ogle whatever proposal he was knocking up.

"You staying for a pint?" Dimmock smiled broadly.

John considered. The email did say they were going to have a mini celebration. Typical. Beers from the fridge on the corporate expense account when they made budget. Everyone took it with open arms because when they _weren't_ making budget … well, they'd have to survive on their own tears. John got the shivers just thinking about it.

"Yeah, why not?" John replied, leaning back, hands clasping behind his head. He smiled at Dimmock, one of the few account execs he could stand. The man was as easy to please as a puppy. He hadn't become jaded with the industry yet, not at the delicate age of twenty-eight. John's many more years had taught him better. "Was going to go home for a pint, why not enjoy it here? Could miss the traffic if it goes on past six."

"That's the spirit!" Dimmock crowed.

John spun his chair about as Dimmock's head receded, probably to shut down his computer early. The London skyline was sprawled beneath his feet. God, what a beautiful city. He sat at this window every day but rarely had the time to just look. The thirtieth floor was great. John counted himself one of the lucky ones. He hadn't been sorry about leaving his last position. That had been, was it really five years ago? Bloody hell. Finally making it to National Account exec had been worth it, though. He'd toiled long and hard for years on the retail level for far too long. He didn't have to pound the streets anymore. No, with his national accounts, the work was much easier. Massive agencies and corporations were just dying to throw their money around. He didn't have to rely on the small local shops' money. Though his budget was increasing every year, at least his salary was too.

Maybe soon he should consider moving. It would be about time.

His email dinged again. John sighed and spun around slowly.

 

_Hello all,_

_Drinks and snacks will be served in the boardroom._

_Thank you,_

_Molly_

 

Ah, good. Snacks meant those amazing turkey wraps and maybe even some sandwiches. John could murder a good meal, even if it wasn't any better than a burger. He'd skipped lunch, realizing belatedly. He frowned, thinking how bad his eating habits were becoming. _Should probably go for a run tomorrow,_ he thought idly, closing his applications. He saved the cereal client presentation for the morning. He had a client lunch booked for Friday, which gave him only a few hours after that to wind up his business plan for Monday's presentation. He might have to take it home, which was annoying. Not that he had weekend plans. Who had a life anyway? 

"You coming, Watson?" Sally Donovon's head popped into his cubicle. She eyed his cubicle-mate's seat. "Stamford out?"

John glanced at Mike's messy desk. "Yeah, client meeting. Might have gone home after."

Sally raised a brow, "Right, well keep that under your hat. Don't want his majesty to hear Stamford's buggered off early."

John just watched her go, leaving a wake of cynicism in her passing. God, she was going to have to work on getting that stick out of her arse. John stood and stretched. He slipped his blazer on and straightened his tie. He liked this suit, was very glad he bought it. Dark grey with just enough blue in it to bring out the wide navy stripes in his tie. Trim-fit too. Couldn't have all the young sales guys cutting a lean figure in the office.

As he walked out of the mess of cubicles, he bumped into Sarah. She smiled. "John," she said and he grinned, not at all bothered by the way her legs moved in her pencil skirt as he let her pass.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "So I take it you heard Holmes the younger is in today?"

John's brows rose, "No. Is he? Didn't see him. Usually can tell."

Sarah laughed and covered her mouth. John smiled.

"Yes, well, he got in at three. Molly's been a wreck. Apparently he was slated to be in for lunch, but his flight was delayed." She rolled her eyes at John, which in turn made him laugh.

"Ah, poor Molly. Whatever will we do with out easily-flustered assistant?"

"Receptionist," Sarah corrected.

"Shanghai this time?" John said, ignoring her. He hated to be reminded that Molly wasn't anyone's assistant anymore. Poor girl had messed up too many times. Lucky she'd been kept on at reception at all.

"Montreal," Sarah answered.

"Ah," John nodded, not really caring.

They approached the boardroom which was already filling up with whoever was left at this hour. John entered and saw the few sales people moving about the large table. Ok, not sandwiches. Sushi. Bollocks. John's stomach growled menacingly. He felt like a fool picking up ten pieces of sushi. Damn English politeness.

He excused himself to get a beer. Molly and the president's assistant were pulling out six-packs, thankfully chilled. It was a good day when they made budget.

"All right, John?" Lestrade said, cracking open a bottle. He handed the opener to John. "Haven't seen you all day."

John flipped the bottle cap onto the growing pile near the bin. "RFP hell," he answered. "Bloody McMitchell's playing phone-tag with me too. Couldn't get him on the phone all day."

Lestrade nodded his head and swigged his beer. "Right, well," he said after a long pull. "You always get your man, don't you?"

John smiled sheepishly and drank back the nice, refreshingly chilled beer. Lestrade was good like that. Honestly, best boss John had ever had. Maybe it was the man's calm demeanour or maybe it was the fact that in comparison to the other bloodthirsty execs in the industry, Lestrade just appeared less terrifying.

He was one of the main reasons why John had even applied for the job here. H&H was one of the largest firms running in the city, and one of the few International conglomerates actually based in London. There was a lot of room to move here, what with the international offices across the globe. Lestrade was a big name, or at least to John he was. Always known for his calm attitude and no-bullshit business sense. John hated pussyfooting about at work. He wasn't one for games or wheedling. His clients liked him because he was honest and not shilling for anything other than good business. So with a sales manager like Lestrade, John could relax a little, focus on his work a bit better. He didn't even have to worry about any back-stabbing fellow salespeople, seeing as the bonuses at H&H were based on team performance. If the team did well, they all profited.

"Heard both brothers are to honour us with their presence today," John said, quietly. It wasn't often that both the president and the vice-president came into the office. Typically one or the other was about, but hardly ever both. Far too busy, apparently.

"Mmm, not actually," Lestrade answered, turning to survey the room. "Mycroft's in Dublin today, some shareholders meeting. Not that I told you that. Should be back tomorrow though."

Mycroft was an interesting president. Not really one for socialising, yet renowned for his extensive network. There was no president, CEO or royal, for that matter, that Mycroft Holmes was not intimately connected with. The man wasn't president of H&H for nothing. Mind like a steel trap, John had heard. He hadn't really interacted with Mycroft much. Though the older Holmes did manage to remember everyone's name, something John could appreciate. With offices on almost every continent, you'd think it fairly easy to forget every sales person's name, nevermind everyone else in the supporting departments.

"Sherlock's in, I believe," Lestrade said. "Oi, Anderson! Enough!"

John looked over at his fellow account executive. The man was leaning against the wall, chatting up Donovon again. God. Couldn't he keep that under wraps? It was getting bloody awkward.

Lestrade pointed a finger at a chair. Anderson scowled and moved to sit down. John smiled into his beer. At least Lestrade had command of his team.

His boss turned back, eyes sliding onto John again. "I meant to ask, how's the Beetawix account going? Lots of production money tied up in that contract."

"Going well, so far," John answered. "Proposal's almost done. Just waiting on Research."

Lestrade nodded. "And the competitive report? Got Creative on that?"

John blinked. Bugger. "Shit, no. I should-damn. You're right. I should ask."

"Better hustle," Lestrade looked at his watch.

John nodded and sat his beer on the windowsill. He quickly left the boardroom and speed-walked down the hall. If he was quick, he could catch the design team before they left. Bugger. Balls. Bugger.

He dashed around a corner and careened into the creative department. "Ladies!" he cried, smiling broadly. "Gentleman," he nodded at the lone male designer.

"Oh Lord," one of the women said. "Crazy deadline, Watson?"

John grinned wider. "I know, I'm terrible. I just wanted to see if that competitive report you mentioned before-"

"Beetawix?" she responded, looking over her monitor at him.

"Yes actually, please," John said.

"Done," she replied, looking back at her screen.

John blinked, "Really? Even though I forgot-"

"It will be in your inbox at nine am." She looked up at him and smiled, pushing at her bright red fringe.

John grinned like a fool. "Oh, you magnificent beauty. You wondrous icon of creative ingenuity."

"Oh, get out," Derek, the male designer grumbled, not even looking up.

John laughed. "No, really, thank you, Avery. You're my superstar, every time."

The redhead smiled at her screen. "I know," she said.

"You lot not coming for drinks, then?" John said, making his way to the door.

All three designers looked up. "No. Right. Of course not." He backed away. "Well, thanks!" and he left, walking briskly back to the boardroom. Everyone understood the design team was tetchy. Not many people wanted to work with them, but John needed their stuff, so he was good. Talent is talent, after all. 

On his way back, he noted all the empty desks; All in the boardroom. Damnit. He hoped he wasn't missing anything. There wouldn't be any speech or anything, would there?

"Watson."

John almost tripped on his own feet.

"Mr. Holmes," he said, recognizing the VP at once.

"Sherlock. I've told you," the tall, dark-haired man growled, annoyance plain on his face. He walked alongside John as the two headed to the sales group waiting.

"Right," John answered, not caring one jot.

Sherlock Holmes was the younger brother of Mycroft, a two-tiered powerhouse to be reckoned with. In the industry, the rumour was that if you ever went head-to-head with a Holmes, you'd have to kiss your business (and your dignity) good-bye.

John slipped in behind the VP as they entered the boardroom. The people inside immediately stopped chattering and composed themselves. John smirked and came to stand beside Lestrade, picking up his beer again. He watched his colleagues squirm.

Sherlock practically glared at them all as he walked to the front of the smallish room. "Everyone," his deep voice intoned. "It seems my brother isn't here to mewl at your almost abysmal accomplishments, so take it from me: you managed to match last quarter, be sure to do the same for next. I don't expect alcohol to be the only reason, but I know it probably is, for you all assembling late on a Thursday. Partake in the free meal and remember, this is no excuse to slack on your business proposals come Monday."

There was a lot of awkward shuffling. Molly gave a quick clap.

"Bloody hell," Lestrade breathed under his breath. John wasn't surprised. He'd long ago left behind his idea of a warm, ingratiating Sherlock Holmes patting them on the backs every time they did something well. The vice-president expected results. Who blamed him? After all, only he was responsible for the international accounts, something unheard of; A one-man team flying between every office of the company, bringing in clients from across the globe? Madness. Some people actually thought the younger Holmes _was_ mad. He certainly was abrasive enough.

Sherlock eyed the lot gathered. "Well, on with your merriment I suppose," he flicked his hand and everyone seemed to exhale as one.

"Jesus," Dimmock hissed, coming up to John, beer in hand. "Not half impressed, is he?"

"He expects us to make budget," John shrugged.

"Too right," Lestrade agreed. "It's what you're paid to do, Dimmock."

Dimmock flushed at his boss and John laughed. He patted his colleague on the shoulder.

Dimmock made a face, "I better make my business plan freaking perfect then, hadn't I?"

John nodded fervently. "Definitely. You've never presented to him, have you?"

Dimmock shook his head. "No. Not yet."

Lestrade smiled broadly. "Well, lad. You're in for a treat."

Dimmock blanched and John laughed again.

\---

About two hours later, the room had emptied out a bit. Only a handful of execs remained. Those who had more work to do, and those who didn't want to go home to their families. John noticed Anderson talking up Donovon again. Idiot.

Lestrade was onto his fourth beer and lounging back in a chair, talking to Dimmock about Monday. Dimmock had loosened his tie and was atop the windowsill, skin flushed from the alcohol. The lad would learn one day. It did take years for any professional to learn the problems of drinking and fraternizing at work. John, along with everyone else his age had had the lesson already, thank God. He didn't require any more hungover mornings with sad excuses. 

John was wishing Sarah a good night as she tugged on her coat.

"Still a bit nippy," she commented, flipping her hair out from beneath the wool coat.

"You have heating," John smiled, tugging at her green scarf.

She rolled her eyes, "No car today. In the shop. Tubing it home."

"Oh," John made a _woe-is-you_ face. "Take a cab then. You can afford it."

Sarah sighed, "Or you could give me a lift?" she smiled.

John gave a lopsided grin. Tempting. Very tempting. "Sorry, love. Afraid I took the tube too."

"Well, aren't we a pair?" she smiled and winked. "Good night, John." 

He watched her go and sighed. Lord. For so many weeks he'd chatted her up. Much as he'd like a repeat of a few weeks ago, he just couldn't. Going back to hers had been brilliant, one of his best and brightest ideas. Office romances were tricky. It was getting awkward though and he didn't want to delve too deep into a reason why. 

He was still thinking about her long legs, her pale, creamy skin, dotted with freckles. God. 

"Watson," came a deep voice. John blinked. He looked around to find the VP walking by. Sherlock passed him and crooked a finger. "My office. Now."

John blinked. Fuck. He was in the shit, wasn't he? Shit buggery fuck fuck.

"Coming," he said, following after the tall man. He scanned his watch. It was getting late. What had he done now? It was so rare for Sherlock to even be at the office that John couldn't figure out why the VP wanted to see him at this hour.

He followed the man around the office, to the corner suite. The VP's office was barely used, more of a placeholder space. John entered the room with the large white desk and small couches.

Sherlock waved at the nearest couch. "Sit."

John sat down. The door was still open. Ok, good. The severity of any meeting was always dictated by whether or not the door remained open. Not that Sherlock stuck to the rules. John had overheard many a telling-off from the comfort of his own cubicle. Sherlock Holmes was not a man to mess with. He could tear employees apart in two sentences, bringing grown men to tears and leaving distraught women cowering in his wake.

"Beetawix," Sherlock said, turning to stand opposite John. "Your account, yes?"

John blinked and nodded.

"Lestrade informed me that you have a client lunch tomorrow with them."

"Yes," John answered warily.

Sherlock seemed to be glaring at him.

"Wear your light grey suit, then," Sherlock said.

John's brows furrowed. "Sorry, what?"

"Your suit, the light one. You still have one, don't you? All you account executives seem to follow the same rules of office attire. Grey suits: three shades. Blue, white and grey shirts and bland ties. Modern battle attire, if the media is to be believed."

"I-yes, I have one. I wasn't planning on wear-"

"Well do so. I would normally accompany an executive on such meetings, but I think you'll do. The grey brings out the greying tones in your hair. Distinguishes you from the rest of this lot."

John paused before answering. "You wanted to accompany me?" he tried to hold back his disdain. He also ignored the jab at his appearance. Wasn't he a trusted account guy? "Sir?" he added as a formality.

Sherlock scowled. "I just said I'm not going to. Are you even listening?"

John bit his tongue, "I'm sorry, what is going on exactly? If you have more information for me, it might help when I go in tomorrow." He hated having a client drop information on his lap last minute.

Sherlock sighed as if John were just too slow to comprehend him. "One million."

He sat in his office chair, elbows planted on the desk and stared at John.

"What? One million what?" John cocked a brow.

"Beetawix will be coming to the table with a million pounds in spending. They are not going to tell you, of course, because they still have to meet with other vendors. You are to expand your proposal to include their budget."

John blinked, "But the RFP said-"

"Are you listening?" Sherlock snapped. "I don't give a damn about the RFP. They will have the money, I guarantee you. It's your job to make sure they have every option laid out to perfectly match their budget. Cover _everything_ , Watson."

John thought about that. Right. Well, his initial proposal wasn't anywhere near that amount. Bloody hell.

"I could add on the digital division. Maybe package a tie-in to a sister company?"

"Good," Sherlock nodded. "And make sure you have visuals. The CEO hates reading numbers. Dumb it down for the fool."

John blinked. "All right."

Sherlock eyed him. "You always use visual data, don't you?"

John nodded. It wasn't common practice, but he did prefer it that way. "Always. I find it pretties up the boring facts." He shrugged. _So shoot me._

Sherlock smiled. "Good." He then stood and tugged his designer suit jacket back into place. "I expect a report afterwards."

"Wait," John stood abruptly, cutting off the VP's exit. "I'll need time. The meeting's tomorrow. If I push it back-"

"No," Sherlock said, looking down with those pale, icy eyes of his. "You _never_ extend a deadline on a proposal. Never."

John turned as the man pushed past to leave. "But I'll have to work more on it. _Tonight_."

Sherlock turned and smirked. "Whatever works, Watson. Make it happen."

John watched the lanky man leave, probably for the evening. He clenched his fists at his side. Fuck. 

\---

It was after one when he finally shut down his computer and pulled on his coat. God almighty. At least he'd finished the bloody work. He had rearranged the proposal, split up offerings and even grabbed extra stats from an old presentation he'd done to the competitor a few weeks back. As he turned off his lamp, he felt his pocket buzz. Frowning, he pulled out his phone. 

 _CEO will bring his assistant. Also, head of accounts and his mistress. SH_  

John gawped at the text message. 

The sender had to be Sherlock. But how did he…? Ah, the phone list was freely available. 

As John walked down the hall to the elevator, his fingers tapped out a response. 

_Do you know what time it is? Mistress? Really?_

The response was immediate. 

 _You're still working, or you should be. His wife's head of the Triple Heart Research Foundation. Bring it up. Make him feel terrible. May help. - SH_  

John frowned. Good God. Was the man serious? 

_You are joking? Why would he bring his mistress?_

_Because he's a fool who'll listen to fluttering women who have no knowledge about his business but who offer their thoughts on the matter, regardless; silly excuse of a man. Treat the mistress kindly. It's not her fault he's a complete moron. - SH_  

John took a deep breath. Wow. How did Sherlock know this? Was it even true? 

His phone buzzed.

_Hence the grey suit. She'll love it. - SH_

John didn't have a response, so he just closed his phone, tucked it back into his pocket and waited for the elevator to arrive. 

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RFP - Request for proposal. When a client asks all vendors to present their offerings for any given contract.


	2. Chapter 2

"Finally thought you'd rock up, eh, Watson?"

John looked up, his arms overloaded with his laptop bag, the mini projector case and his client folders.

"Shut it, Anderson," he said sharply.

Molly came around the reception desk to help him. "Meeting go well?" she asked, grabbing his folders.

John shrugged the strap of his bag higher up his shoulder.

"I'd like to think so," he murmured with a smile, noting Anderson's scowl as they passed him. "God, the heating on full blast?"

Molly made a face, "It's the cold. Building maintenance has been called."

John led her through the office until they reached his cubicle. He dropped the bags and tilted his head, stretching his neck. Molly dropped the folders onto his desk as he shrugged out of his winter coat.

"All right, John?" Mike Stamford said, rolling his chair away from his keyboard. "You make it on time?"

"Yeah, just," John said, looping his scarf over the coat rack they shared. "Busy morning, mate."

Molly smiled and left, heading back to her post.

"You were in early, right?" Mike asked as John settled into his chair.

"Yeah," John replied, tugging out his laptop and switching it on. "Not by much, though."

He signed into his email, noting the buildup in his absence. He wasn't one for checking his phone during meetings or lunches. He was one of the few left who found it horribly rude and disrespectful, so he simply waited to get back to his desk to answer emails.

"You're all dressed up for a Friday," came Dimmock as his familiar face appeared above the cubicle wall. It was two-thirty on the tail end of the week, which meant most people settled for more casual attire.

John looked down at his light grey suit, crisp white shirt and light blue tie. He smiled up at Dimmock, "Can't have all of us looking like schoolkids."

Dimmock scowled. "Yes, all right." Dimmock had had more than a few ribbings on his default 'casual' attire which comprised mostly of soft jumpers in softer colours over khakis and silly socks. He would never live down the watermelon designs on his favourite pair.

"Lestrade said you're to see him once back," Mike said, turning back to his own work.

John nodded and stood.

He spent a good half hour in Lestrade's office giving his boss the run-down of the meeting with Beetawix. Once Lestrade was satisfied, John looked at the time, noting he only had a couple more hours to hash out his business plan presentation. He had a rough draft on the go but needed to tweak the hell out of it before it was good enough for Monday.

So he sat down and focused, reread his work and began putting the pieces together in an orderly fashion. The business plans were always a tough sell. Plan out your next fiscal year, mark up your personal budget goals and set up parameters for how you were aiming to achieve said goals. The managers, VP and president were always in for the business plans because they had to group the lot together, see if the numbers could match up for the new fiscal and then they could compare it to their projections. The way an account manager presented said a lot about how successful he could be in the next twelve months. John had witnessed more than a few presentations go down the drain because of poor planning. The bosses could tear your plan apart in front of you if they saw an ounce of weakness peeking through.

 

Lestrade had mentioned to John that Sherlock still wanted an update, but the VP was out most of the day, so could John just hang about. This he could do. He wasn't planning on heading home very soon anyway. Not like some of the other lazy beggars who saw Friday as early knock-off.

"Blimey, slow down, John," Mike said. "You'll make the rest of us looks like inept baboons with a plan like that."

John looked up to find his cubicle mate looking over at his screen. John blinked. "What?"

Mike chuckled, "Your business plan: going a bit overboard aren't you?"

John looked back at his screen. "Not if I want to be any good at my job, no."

Mike shook his head.

 

\---

 

Five thirty rolled around and John found himself in a very quiet office, still ticking away at his keyboard. He was actually rather proud of his work. As he scanned the powerpoint, looking out for spelling errors, he heard footsteps.

"Ready, John?" Lestrade said, coming to lean on the cubicle wall.

"Yes, right. His majesty's in, is he?"

Lestrade smiled broadly, "Just got back. Mind the tone, though."

John sighed, saved his work and stood. "You're hanging about?"

Lestrade shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Got to get home sometime. If you're in trouble, don't call. I'm logging out."

John smirked and walked through the corridor, turning left as Lestrade turned right.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss," John hollered.

"Anytime!"

 

John made his way to the end of the office. He came up to the closed door, looking through the wall-glass at the VP who was standing in his office, clearly berating someone over the phone. The man wore a navy shirt and black trousers, his shirt cuffs rolled up. Sherlock looked up and waved John in anyway. John pushed the door open and slipped in, trying his best to be quiet.

"Oh really?" Sherlock was saying, his tone nothing less than cutting. "If that's his opinion on the matter, then perhaps we look into alternative suppliers. You have enough overspend already, don't you? Or does your time in Belize not carry forward into the next fiscal?"

Sherlock paused to hear the response. John settled himself into one of the white couches to wait. "I thought not. It's not up for discussion anymore. Just fix the damn problem or I'll fix it for you." Sherlock pulled his mobile away from his ear, tapped at the screen and slid the phone across the desk behind him.

"Tough day?" John said casually, leaning back in his seat to get comfortable.

Sherlock eyed him warily before sitting on the couch opposite.

"For him? I should hope so."

"Such an easy man to please, aren't you?" John smirked.

"Idiots, the lot of them," Sherlock answered looking John over. John could see the man taking in the appearance of the grey suit. Yes, John had listened. Good.

 

"Beetawix," Sherlock said, sitting back in his chair. "Successful?"

"Lestrade give you the run-down?" John responded.

Sherlock peered at John, "Are you going to tell me or not?" His voice was acidic. Such a charmer.

John looked up, recalling the meeting earlier. "If you're asking if it went well, then I think so."

"The CEO brought his assistant?" Sherlock asked, like he didn't know already.

"Yes," John said, "If the blonde is his assistant. I assumed the one with the short hair was his … mistress? If people really have _mistresses_."

Sherlock waved his hand and nodded. "Head of accounts make it?"

John smiled. "Yes, though I didn't think she'd be female too."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why are people so quick to assume any person of a higher corporate level could only be male? Don't assume, Watson."

"Well, it factored in, you know. It's not a boys club." And it was true. John didn't have to beef up his act like he would with other men in the business. If he was honest, he'd admit that the real peacocks in sales were the men. They relied so heavily on charisma and how much they could strut, it was a wonder they got anything done aside from ruffling their fellow colleagues' feathers. It always made John laugh. Anderson suffered from it. Dimmock was prone to it, but might be convinced otherwise.

Sherlock's fingers rubbed over his bottom lip. "I saw your presentation. Not bad."

John blinked. "I only presented it today. Lestrade didn't even have time to see it."

Sherlock laughed then, which surprised John. "Again, assumptions. You saved it on the drive. Where else would I look? You think I don't keep tabs on whatever garbage the account managers are spitting out? I like to see what's going on, Watson."

That actually made sense. It's not as if the server was encrypted against internal staff. All sales documents were easily accessible. You just had to look in the appropriate account folders and there was all the work prepared for by the account managers.

"Right. Guess I didn't think management was interested in that stuff."

Sherlock's fingers lingered on his lips as he pondered. Then he smiled. "Get on with it. Did he sign?"

John tilted his head. "No. But he might."

Sherlock scowled. "Might? I'm not looking for paltry answers, Watson. A good account manger can manage not just his accounts, but his clients too. Can you not read the man?"

John calmed himself. He really had to. It wasn't the place to lose his shit all over the VP. "I'm not a mind-reader, no. I showed up on time, footed the bill, played nice, asked about his vacation, talked about Christmas with his assistant, the whole lot. I'm not about to go in guns blazing about an imaginary budget I'm not supposed to know about. God, if I can't rely on my presentation skills or the work of my support staff, then maybe the client isn't the soft of business we want."

 

Sherlock's brow rose. John breathed. God, that wasn't the best thing to say. But he _was_ being honest and didn't Lestrade always emphasize honesty around the Holmeses? Said the brothers could read any man alive.

Sherlock eyed him a moment longer. "Your offerings were sound and I'm glad to see you roped in some graphics work. Not everyone cares or even remembers to do so."

John shrugged. "Lucky Avery got it finished for me in time. Research too, for that matter."

"He will sign," Sherlock said calmly. The room was still.

John breathed. "Sure about that?"

Sherlock smirked. "Which of the women chatted you up? And don't tell me none of them. I can tell when you lie."

John found that doubtful as the VP barely knew him at all.

"Well, I figured you'd want me to pay special attention to his mistr-"

"No," Sherlock said, leaning forward. "That's not what I asked."

John frowned. "Well, if you were more clear. She was … interesting. Especially compared to the other two. Less corporate."

"Did she vie for your attention during the meeting?" Sherlock asked, eyes glittering.

John paused before answering. "No."

"Why not?" Sherlock leaned forward some more. God, he seemed almost ravenous for information.

"Listen, Mr. Holmes," John said, "I'm not sure what you wanted me to do in there. I'm not one for mind games. Not in business, not in life. I wasn't about to … flirt with the client's mistress or whatever, just to win her over. Honestly, I found the head of accounts to be more than amenable to my presentation. She had a lot of questions, actually. Rate of response, ROI, competitive reporting accuracy. The CEO pretty much let her take the reins. It might not have been what you wanted, but then you didn't exactly explain what the hell was going on in the first place. They didn't mention a budget of one million pounds. Not a dickie bird. I don't even know if that's a real option. Maybe I looked the right fool pushing such a large offering at them, who knows? I stuck my neck out when I might not have had to. Head of accounts seemed the smarter option. Was I really supposed to have the CEO buy a massive contract with us just because his bloody date would want him to? Why would she even want that? The woman barely understood what I did for a living."

 

Sherlock looked at John calmly. John felt his anger rising. God, this man was insufferable at times. And this was really the first time John had spent any extended period of time in his company, outside of sales meetings.

 

"I've told you," the VP said softly. "It's Sherlock."

John stood then, closing his suit jacket sharply and buttoning it up. "I don't have much more to tell you, _Sherlock._ So this will have to do until Monday."

 

There was a tap on the glass. Molly peered in, folder in hand. Sherlock nodded her in.

 

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Holmes, but Sarah asked me to drop this with John before I left. Mr. Caruthers called and asked to talk - "

"I'm here!" John cried. "you could have looped him in."

Molly blanched, "Sorry, John, Sarah took his call. Didn't know you were in here at all. She just wanted me to tell you that Caruthers faxed in a revised contract. Sarah thought you'd like to see it before you left."

Molly handed over a sheet of paper and retreated out of the office, shutting the door behind her.

Sherlock got to his feet and came to look over John's shoulder.

John stared.

"A million pounds plus change," he said hoarsely. "Fucking hell."

He felt a hand grip his forearm and John looked up. Sherlock flicked the paper away before suddenly pushing John, shunting him up against the wooden office door. John gasped as the VP crowded in close, his smile a mile wide.

"What did I tell you, Watson?" Sherlock growled, staring down into John's eyes.

John stared up at him, barely breathing. "I know how to read people."

 

\---


	3. Chapter 3

 

The layout of the office of the vice president was fairly typical.

A large desk, computer and desk chair were positioned near the south and west-facing windows. There was a bureau, three small couches and a low coffee table. A vase stood atop the bureau with fake orchids standing upright in fake sod. Probably placed there by Molly. Beside the wooden door there was a glass panel about as wide as the door itself. Most of the managers' offices had frosted glass; not so for Sherlock. He wasn't much for hiding. He rarely cared what anyone thought of his business, if he was even in the office at all. You were lucky if he even kept his tone to a reasonable level when chewing someone out. It was usually entertaining to watch clients and employees alike as they squirmed under his scathing diatribes.

 

John was getting acquainted with that slight glass panel. It was the only part of the wall that revealed the inner sanctum of the VP's office to the rest of his colleagues. It also would, should someone come to lean on the glass, reveal the manner in which Sherlock Holmes was currently pressing himself upon the previously unwary John Watson.

 

Admittedly, most of his colleagues would have buggered off at this hour, but John could still feel a prickle of annoyance at the presence of the glass panel. Hateful.

Because of it, he could not enjoy the way Sherlock slowly smoothed his hand over the front of John's trousers. He was too busy frowning at the idea of being disturbed. John didn't like being disturbed.

He couldn't even dwell on the smirk now splayed across his boss's angular, beautifully smug face. 

"You really have bad timing, you know," John said calmly, looking up into Sherlock's piercingly pale eyes.

The younger Holmes paused in his not wholly unwelcome ministrations. His gaze flickered over John's face. Not unwilling then, his quarry. Annoyed? Probably.

"I have impeccable timing," Sherlock purred into John's skin.

John just sighed. "You may think you're a man of many wonders, but your style leaves something to be desired."

Sherlock paused in his soft breathing and pulled back. "Watson, have the women in this godforsaken office already twisted you? Are they really that stifling? I thought you and Sawyer were done with your annoying dalliance?"

John blinked. "You what?"

Sherlock flicked at John's short fringe. "She was a distraction, yes. But once you got what you wanted, I supposed you'd be amenable to getting your frustrations out with someone ... more in line with your tastes?"

Holmes' soft, cool lips pressed to John's jaw, his hands against the wood on either side of John's head. "After all, you're very much in demand."

Fuck.

"Most if not all of the women here eye you up you know. Dapper John in his lovely fitted suits and perfectly combed hair and air of confidence otherwise lacking in the other men."

John didn't care anymore. He'd left his propriety in his thirties, unencumbered by troublesome expectations, he felt he deserved whatever he wanted. And fuck if he wanted this. He roughly grabbed Sherlock's face and kissed those frustratingly full lips. They belonged with his own, damnit. He wanted those lips to stop yammering and just get busy with his own. He'd thought about it, dreamt about it for ages. Bastard.

Sherlock purred into his mouth, lips opening. Their tongues met and the room suddenly got warmer.

Bloody hell, this was exactly what John didn't need, but oh, so deperately wanted. "Prick," he muttered, tongue lapping at Sherlock's lower lip. He bit. Sherlock breathed.

John pushed the other man back and wiped at his own mouth.

Sherlock frowned. "Done already?"

John straightened his jacket. "Just getting started, mate."

Sherlock smiled, slow and deadly. John's legs felt all wobbly. That smile would have so many men and women fall on their own swords, it should be outlawed.

"Mm," came Sherlock's low rumble. "Your place, or mine?"

John pressed a hand to his hair, straightening his fringe again. He lifted his chin and stared back at his boss. This was real, wasn't it? Being prpositioned by the vice president. Not an average Friday, then. Here's where John made his choice. He took in the consequences, the rules, the possible trouble this would cause. He then considered the positives, namely having Sherlock on his back.

"My place is further isn't it? You probably live just downtown in a swanky house, don't you?" John answered after clearing his throat.

Sherlock stared back, licking his lips, considering. Expediancy or have an employee in his home? He looked John over. A compact, ridiculously confident man. Watson was perfect. Smart, blunt, yet overly kind to simpletons. Sherlock had had enough time to eye the man, to read his worth. God, he was attractive, what with that posture, that always dapper appeal and the silvery streaks lighting up his already soft hair. 

"I have a flat," Sherlock responded. "Five minute cab ride. Good enough?"

John smiled that rarely seen wicked grin. Sherlock shivered.

"Lead the way, sir."

\---

The cabbie probably wanted to die. He didn't always get groping couples in his cab, but bloody hell. He certainly wasn't prepared to have two full grown men lay into each other. Teenagers, yes. Maybe even lovestruck couples. But two clearly professional businessman from the financial district making out like feral animals in his backseat? Cor, he'd better be getting a fat tip for this.

\---

John stumbled in after Sherlock, slamming the door behind him. The elevator had been awkward, riding up silently with that elderly woman while John tried to hide his impending erection. They'd had to pretend they weren't about to tear each other's suits off the minute they exited.

 

Sherlock backed up, pulling at John's tie. 

"Watson," he growled, untying the silly piece of fabric. "No more ties."

John chuckled as the taller man tossed the item somewhere. He shucked off his jacket, wondering for a moment where his coat had got to. Probably at work still.

He pushed Sherlock and the other man grabbed at his wrist, leading him into another room.

The two fell onto a lush bed, John clambering on top of the taller man. The duvet was white, along with the sheets. Six hundred thread count Egyptian cotton, he wagered internally.

Sherlock's long fingers skated up John's torso, untucking his shirt as they went. John lapped at Sherlock, not getting enough of those lips. So lush, so inviting, so damn kissable. He hadn't kissed like this in forever. It was so ... brilliant.

Sherlock gasped for air and groaned, becoming frustrated with the buttons on John's shirt. "Must you be fully clothed? I forbid you to wear any more fabric. This will not do."

John pulled away and stood, fingers already undoing his shirt. He simply raised a brow as Sherlock's interest was piqued. His icy gaze zeroed in on John's fingers as more of John's skin was exposed.

"I don't take orders," John said coolly, "Though for the progression of this endeavour, I acquiesce. Might I suggest you do the same?" He almost chuckled when Sherlock began unbuttoning his own shirt while leveling John with an icy look.

"Don't get smart with me," he growled.

"Is that even possible?" John's smile grew.

"You're baiting me, Watson," Sherlock stood and dropped his shirt, advancing on John. 

John stood his ground and calmly looked back at those pale eyes. Sherlock hooked a finger into the waistband of John's trousers. He tugged. John flopped forward, his weight pushing them back onto the bed.

 

"Come on pretty boy, show me what you have."

 

\---

 

The lamps in Sherlock's room were just bright enough to cast artistic shadows across Sherlock's lithe, muscular torso. His long arms were taut, hands crushing into John's shoulders. And what a view it was. John could have spent days just eyeing the man's body. Who knew that under those designer suits was a figure carved from pure marble. 

 

John just kept trying to breathe, eyes not leaving Sherlock's face. That gorgeous face that gave him dreams and nightmares, was currently flushed, brows scrunched, face drawn and focused as the taller man rode John. Was riding him. Hard. 

"Fuck you are amazing," John breathed, licking his lips. He grabbed Sherlock's surprisingly lush, full arse and groaned, arching his back into Sherlock's jolting motions. 

He was bordering on exhaustion, his brain kept telling him, but his body was not ever going to deny itself this glory.

Sherlock slid over his cock, feet achored on the bed, a fine balancing act in play. Over and over.

Every muscle was sliding, clenching as John shuddered. Sherlock slammed down again, jarring John's hips.

Sherlock opened his eyes, finally. "You give me a lot to work with," he said, licking at his own lips before lurching forward, pressing into John's shoulders, and lapping at John's lips.

"Nngh!" John moaned, feet grappling against the sheets, lifting his hips up to follow that luscious heat. Sherlock growled into John's mouth as the smaller man set up a solid rhythm. The two men panted and kissed, muscles clenching under fingers, legs and stomachs. 

"Sherlock, Sherlock," John stuttered, "I'm going to-" Damnit, he could not stop this.

His hips slammed up, causing Sherlock to whine as John felt his orgasm explode behind his eyes. Holy fuck.

Sherlock shivered and pressed down, shoving John's hips flat on the bed again. The force slammed John home again and the taller man shovered, every joint juddering. "Mmm!" He bit his lip and fell forward, face resting on John's collarbone.

 

John could feel Sherlock's neart thundering against his own. Jesus.  He lamely petted damp skin, fingers lazy.

"Guh," Sherlock groaned and rolled off him, sliding free. John shivered and winced.

He breathed a moment, trying to get his world to stop spinning. He chuckled and looked over at his bedmate.

"Well, that was pleasant," he murmured.

"Mmmrrr," Sherlock responded, arm over his eyes, long legs akimbo atop the bedspread.

John grinned. "Speechless? Oh my. You're very welcome, boss."

Sherlock paused, then lifted his arm away from his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow. John snickered, knowing what was coming next.

The force of Sherlock's hands shunted John over the edge of the bed and he laughed uproarously, dragging the warm sheets with him to the floor.

\---

 

John hadn't planned on staying the night. Hell, he hadn't planned anything at all.

He woke up disoriented. The air even smelled fresher in Sherlock's apartment. John pushed up, twisting from his position flat on his stomach. The room was cozy. He squinted at the window. Snow was falling.

He rubbed at his face and rolled over to his other side.

Sherlock was sitting up, a sheaf of papers in his hands.

"Awake, are we?" He murmured in that deep baritone that always made John shiver. He tilted his head and eyed John, gaze skimming over John's somewhat exposed body.

"Time?" John garbled, sitting up, facing the headboard. He blinked, letting the bedspread fall back. He wondered if it was odd to sit on his flopped knees, staring at the very expensive, clearly handmade headboard. Lush white tufted leather over an ornate frame, in case anyone was wondering what the younger Holmes rested his head against every night.

Except last night. John smiled and looked at Sherlock. The dark-haired man was still eyeing him, clearly forgetting his reading material. His gaze had settled on John's stomach, hips, legs.

John felt his smile morph into a smirk. Sherlock looked so different out of the office. His dark curls, usually so carefully styled and teased, were in complete disarray, making him look younger.

He had a few pink marks across his shoulders and chest. Hmmm. John had probably put them there Sherlock's pale eyes slid up to meet John's dark blue ones.

"Strange to see me here still?" John asked. He had no problems with whatever response his boss could come up with. They were both grown men. John was content with his choices, most days anyway.

"No, should it be?" Sherlock answered..

There was that sharp, scathing gaze John was familiar with. The look that got clients nervous and employees fired.

John shrugged. He was going to say more when he felt a hand touch his knee, then move up slowly, caressing his thigh.

John smirked. "I have to get home. Business plan to finish, you know?"

"Mmm," Sherlock rumbled. He tugged John's thigh, spreading his legs wider.

"Really," John breathed, all his memories from the night before rushing back into the fore.

Sherlock's long index finger stroked along his thigh and up over his hip. John twisted towards the other man and kissed him. 

"You're testing me," Sherlock murmured, pulling John into his lap.

"Am I?" John sat back, uncaring of his nudity.

"You're testing the water, Watson. Kissing me to see if I respond. Wondering if I only wanted you in the heat of the moment. Moronic."

"Oh, I guess I can go, then." John made to get off.

Sherlock's hand gripped his hip. "I'm not done with you yet, Watson."

John thought that maybe he was a bit of a masochist and a fool to feel a rush of electricity rush up his spine. He'd just fucked his boss. His Vice President. He was going to have to walk into work on Monday and present his damn business plan to a roomful of managers and somehow keep a straight face as he spoke about projections and proposals while imagining Sherlock sucking him off.

He was probably a fool for not even feeling uncertain. 

"I suppose I could stay a little longer, sir." He leaned down to lap at Sherlock.

"Now that sounds far less boring an option." Sherlock rumbled, smile rubbing against John's lips. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you all for reading. I think I may add excerpt chapters and make this more of a rambling office series. 
> 
> Also, apologies for spelling errors! I'll correct what I find.


End file.
